Many people wonder why people write; why people want to be authors; why they think it important to put their thoughts down in words. Or why people paint or compose or do any art at all. Today I will try to explain this peculiarity, at least to the extent that I understand it.
Everyday, tens of thousands pass away. They leave the Earth without making any impact on anyone except their families. And their names live only till there family lives and then their names will be forever lost in the tempestuous sands of time, buried under the weight of years. These people lead a limited existence. I mean no disrespect, of course. Every person is, in their own way, irreplaceable and no death is compensable. However these people will not survive the test of time. Their names won’t live on. And this frightens most people, me included.
I want to make an impact. Make my name live on. Add my name alongside those great men and women whose feats immortalized them. Whose words and art and music eliminated this problem. This final problem.
I don’t want to be forgotten. I want my name to live on, my legacy to live. And this is one of the reasons I love to write. I want my writings to carry on in my stead. Let my work be a tribute to me, so that when I look down on the Earth from heaven (fingers-crossed) I can see that my name lives on in my stories.
My greatest aspiration is to write a book that creates a generation. Like J.K.Rowling. I know it is a very far fetched dream and I realize it is almost impossible to accomplish but damn it, I will try. And I will try my very best that a century or two from now, in a boring literature class, irritated students will be cursing me as they have to write long analytical essays based on my work.
Don’t think I’m narcissistic. I know I have a VERY long way to go before I can reach that stage. But for all I am worth, God help me in this, I will try.
And if I fail, oh well. I also wanted to be an X-Man. But not everything works out.